


End of the Week

by catchmeifyoucreon



Series: Supernatural Shorts [11]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Attempted Murder, Crime Fighting, F/F, Getting Together, Me shipping two women from spn who never met? it's more likely than u think, Rare Pairings, Rivalry, Women of Supernatural (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-16
Updated: 2020-11-16
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:08:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27593924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catchmeifyoucreon/pseuds/catchmeifyoucreon
Summary: Kathleen has a tough week, and the FBI's involvement in her small town's murder mystery isn't helping. Diana Ballard, the lead FBI investigator, however, might have more to offer than Kathleen initially assumes.
Relationships: Diana Ballard/Kathleen Hudak
Series: Supernatural Shorts [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1107570
Kudos: 1





	End of the Week

**Author's Note:**

> Kathleen Hudak makes an appearance in The Benders, and Diana Ballard is a character in The Usual Suspects. Crossposted from my [Tumblr](https://nyebevans.tumblr.com/post/51678922195/pokes-head-in-eep-can-i-get-some-kathleen-x). Warning for mentions of attempted child murder.

“Look, I’m not a Sheriff, I don’t —”

“Well, I am a Sheriff, and you can remember it before you come in here acting like I’m the dirt beneath your feet.” Kathleen glanced back towards her computer, refreshing her email before fixing her attention on Diana, who was standing in her doorway with mud on her designer suit and a thunderous expression that was quickly floundering at the accusation.

“I do not — I have not —”

“Look,” Kathleen said, “I don’t dislike you, Diana, whatever you may think. We’re just under a lot of pressure here, and I’d like it if you’d back off and support me and my officers.”

She made the mistake of checking her emails. Five hundred and twenty two, a good four hundred more than she’d had two hours ago.

“You look like you could do with a coffee,” said Diana, yanking Kathleen from the clanking, decade-old contraption. She’d once graciously denied herself an upgrade. Now, she was tearing her hair out just _waiting_ for the moment it decided to pack in on her. To make matters worse, Diana was _taking pity on her_.

“I need six shots of Jack and more than three hours sleep.”

“Like I said, coffee.”

Kathleen groaned. Diana seemed to take this as acquiescence; she left the room, at any rate. Kathleen eyed the desk. She wasn’t lying about needing sleep; the biggest serial murder case since the fucking Benders had hit Hibbing, and it had gotten bad enough that she’d had to call in outside help. What felt like six light years later (but was, in actual fact, more like three days), she was snowed in under pressure from all sides, and her desk looked so inviting, and —

*

Diana sat next to Kathleen at the press conference. The cameras took her off-guard in a way which still left her ill at ease, no matter how many she sat in front of.

Beside her, Kathleen was speaking with a grim but practiced tone. She smelt faintly of apples, and more strongly of face powder and foundation. Diana wondered what she might say to a drink, alone. After all this was over, of course.

There was a flurry of wild shouts and flashes which signaled the end of the conference. Diana blinked and hurried to grab her papers — and Kathleen’s too. Being the first woman made Sheriff in a town like Hibbing was tough enough, Diana mused, but having to deal with a serial killer only a month later? 

Maybe she should start attempting to _show_ Kathleen how much she respected her. _Starting with not sniping at her for falling asleep at her desk_ , said a sour voice in Diana’s head. Another, less professional voice, said that Kathleen was lucky her colleagues weren’t the Instagram type.

*

“Well,” said Kathleen. She had mud plastered to her trousers, mud clinging to her, blood splashed across her chin. The child — alive, thank God, but barely — was off in the ambulance with two of Diana’s liaison officers, and the suspect was caught red-handed and being hauled off by more of Diana’s heavies.

Diana herself was spectacularly clean, considering. Kathleen would have suspected airbrushing, had the woman not been standing right in front of her. (And if she still suspected airbrushing, well, she’d had approximately twenty-four hours’ sleep in the past ten days and was going to make a concerted effort to forgive any and all slips).

“Do you fancy a drink?”

Like that one. Wait, had that been her? The flush crawling over Diana’s face suggested that it had been.

“To be honest, Hudak, I’d have thought you’d want to crawl into bed with a Horlicks and abandon the outside world for a month.”

By the look of her — she was, if not covered in mud, looking extremely drawn and pale — Diana could relate to such feelings.

“I do,” Kathleen assured her. “But after that, maybe a drink?”

“I’m sure I can beg an hour off somewhere,” Diana said. They didn’t talk about _leaving_.

*

“So,” Kathleen said, her second vodka and coke poised halfway between the table and her lips. Diana tried to focus on the former, as opposed to the latter.

“So, what?”

“When are you and your heavies going to be on the road again?”

“We’re here till the end of the week,” said Diana. _Three days._

“That long?” Kathleen put the glass down and curled a finger around a lock of hair which had escaped its smooth bun. “I’d have thought you’d be raring to go.”

“Well, it’s not like I don’t enjoy the thought of sleeping in a bed that isn’t worth five dollars a night,” Diana allowed, to a laugh from Kathleen which absolutely _did not_ light up her face. She coughed. “But you know, Hibbing’s not so bad.”

“Besides the murderers,” Kathleen said, and it wasn’t funny, but if they didn’t laugh, they’d both cry. And neither of them was built for breaking down in public.

“Well, some of the people aren’t so bad,” Diana said, and there, across the table, their eyes met. There was a moment where a thousand things might or might not have been appropriate — _are you interested in women? Have you ever done this before? Do you want me to stay?_

In the end, she downed her drink and said, with as straight a face as she could pull: “Your place or mine?”


End file.
